Missing You, My Anatolian Venice

Wish I was there, too.

Muslims on the Bus

A couple, a young Turkish man and woman, is here in SoCal from my Anatolian City. They are studying at the local university. I saw them at a party recently and they were ecstatic about buying a car. Socal is expensive in all things except autos. They had been getting around by bus and train for four months. Believe me, it’s hard to do here.
They told me a horror story:
Traveling home one day, their driver stopped the bus on the side of the road and harangued them… about being Muslims. He told them Christianity is the only way to salvation. He also asserted Muslim men sleep with their daughters. The only other person on the bus joined in with the driver. The Turks didn’t get off because they didn’t have another way to get home. I told them this was completely illegal, and that they could sue this guy’s butt off, not to mention the City. Of course they would never consider this. Any lawyers out there interested???

How Can We Survive Abroad without Books?

I heard a story on NPR about the U.S. Post Office’s discontinuation of slow mail abroad (mail shipped by train and/or boat). M-bags are how I got all my books to Turkey last year. Three huge bags of art books, elementary school books, cookbooks—almost all left to colleagues in my Anatolian City, where libraries, if they exist in institutions, are poorly stocked.
Now future academics teaching abroad will be stuck. That just sucks. Because you can only take only 50 lbs per suitcase, and airlines weigh carry-ons, it will be very difficult to move abroad for six months or a year to teach or do research. You’ll have to pay exorbitant prices to ship heavy texts. Doesn’t the government understand you can’t buy books you need to teach in most other countries?
Here’s an eye-opening story:
There was a bookseller who set up in my Turkish Faculty. The texts were from European publishers. I saw a hardbound illustrated volume on Italian Mannerist Pontormo, one of my favorite artists. In my broken Turkish I asked the price. He replied something like $20. I was surprised; normally a book like this would sell for about $60. But then I understood—as a faculty member I could buy the book on time, paying $20 a month for a year! What professor, Turkish or American, could afford that?
book/bird sculpture by Joanne Hayakawa

Reconnect

Since my return from Turkey I’ve gotten back in touch with some old friends. Why do we let friendships slip away? When we had a history of shared experiences, when we had such fun together? Sometimes lives just drift apart, making us feel we don’t have time for someone on a different lifepath. But being abroad has taught me the value of friendship, and also how enriching it is to spend time with people who aren’t “suburban with kids.” Glad we’re back in touch, L.

Patriotism

I come from a conservative family politically. And predictably, I’m a raving liberal (could you guess that?). But I’ve noticed that since I’m back from Turkey, where patriotism/Ataturk/Turkish heritage are not looked upon frivolously, I’m treating rituals like our Pledge of Allegiance more seriously. I think living abroad makes one quite “thankful for the USA,” quoting from a song my kids sing at school. Experiencing that Turks can hate what our government is doing (witness the Armenian resolution) but still treat American individuals with hospitality and warmth sort of puts things in perspective.

Don’t Forget Me

I’m starting to get lovely little notes from Turks who are finally back from their summer holidays and starting school again. Don’t worry, my friends, I haven’t forgotten you! I miss you and think of you often. Even though I’m fully engulfed again by my life here, a part of me has remained in Anatolia, and I will search for a way to return to you.
With love,
K
Photo is of an Ottoman house in Bursa. Although this one looks like it will have to demolished, many of these houses get restored.

Thoughts on Excess Stuff

Have been reading some other blogs about expats returning to the USA, and how we are mostly shocked and dismayed at the amount of material stuff we live with here. You can get used to living with so much less, which somehow frees you up for other things, like seeing friends, playing with your kids, making art, or blogging.
I’m having the curious experience of “shopping” in my own house. Let’s say I need something, maybe a tool or some workout pants. In Turkey I would have either done without the thing, or would have had to plan an elaborate shopping trip to purchase it. Here I go into my garage or storage, do a targeted search, and voila, needed item is found.
This artwork fits somehow… a handwoven rug by Renee Petropoulos at Rosamund Felsen.

I miss Turkey so much.

Sometimes I can’t believe I’m here and not there.

Sunny SoCal Kids

I suppose you’re wondering how kids who have been abroad for a year are adjusting back to life in the Lalaland fast lane. The answer is… just fine. In fact, Kid.02 seems extremely happy, and LOUD, which reassures us because he’s always been a bit timid. For a while he was speaking and singing in Turkish here, more than he ever did in Turkey, and refusing to understand or speak Spanish (which he can). Kid.01 was immersed in many camps, and I think got a bit exhausted, but he’s also happy. Especially about Mexican food…
School starts in a few weeks, so we’ll see how that adjustment goes. I have a feeling it won’t be as smooth.

On Being Kurdish

I know several Kurds in Turkey. One was my model 11 years ago; she’s a high school art teacher now. Another is a student who is trying to do masters work in Paris; I helped him with his resume and letters of reference. His work in my class, political for Turkey, was portraits of Kurdish villagers. I pushed him for more and he produced a very strong installation, raw cow tongues impaled on large nails hanging from the ceiling. The viewer was forced to walk under this dangerous looking mobile. The metaphor was that Kurds were forbidden to speak their own language (this is not the cast now).
I just found out by accident that another friend is half Kurdish; this person keeps this fact hidden out of fear of prejudice and gossip. My friend’s family did not teach the children the Kurdish language. I feel sad about this, because part of my friend’s life and identity is missing.
(image above is from a Documenta video by Halil Altindere, Dengbejs, “you will marry in pain and as a widow…”)
…
One of the things I love about SoCal is the diversity here. Today at Costco, the great suburban equalizer, I watched a parade of Latinos, Asians (mostly Filipino), whites, African-Americans, Pacific-Islanders (mostly Hawaiian), and even some Arabs parade by with huge bags of chips, multiple bottles of ketchup, and flats of coke. I also saw several handicapped people shopping with their families. Needless to say, almost every adult was overweight...

Hello, SoCal

Hi Guys, I am alive, but barely. Just kidding. Only very tired. My boys were very happy to see me and me them. But I’m in a total time-warp-culture-shock. The most overwhelming thing is how much broken down, junky, useless stuff is in my house. It’s suffocating.
Want to write about the Turkish election, missing my friends, what I’m eating (basically bacon and Californian wine)… but too woozy. Will try tomorrow.
XOXO

Odds and Ends

Moo
One of my artist friends and his students have been working for days in the hot sun on some cows, altering each of the basic sculptures. The one I saw is fantastic: an Artemis cow, with multiple udders. These cows will be displayed in Istanbul by Sutas, the Turkish milk company and sponsor of the project.
Concurrently, dozens of badly-painted, kitschy cows have appeared on the streets of Our Anatolian City. We didn’t understand where these cows were coming from. It turns out these are counterfeit cows, produced by the mayor’s office. He’s normally a great guy who has done wonders for Our City. But he doesn’t understand public art (what politician does?) And these are copyrighted cows, with strict guidelines for production and display.
So finally a copyright issue hits home through these kitschy, counterfeit, copyrighted vacas. It’s quite funny.
Kloe Can Occasionally Turn from Art and Talk Politics
The national election for parliament is tomorrow. It’s a very important election, and Turks take it seriously, returning in some cases to their hometowns to vote. The conservative religious party, the AKP, has held the majority in parliament and has presided over economic advances, but doesn’t have enough power to elect the president. If it gets more power it can. My liberal university friends hope that the left, or the party of Ataturk (who divided religion and state), will gain votes to provide balance and prevent further fragmentation of Turkey. Plus, my friends don’t trust the AKP for one moment.
Email Quote from my Grandmother
Welcome Other (blue eyes)
Your blog says it's time.
I've said it was TIME a while ago.
We have quite a big mix here, and I hope you can fit.
Things running by reality, necessity. Logic that squeezes out some flipperty-gippet and unfortunately substitutes age for youth.
Think it is called LIFE.
Whatever, Life in California is here, ready or not.
Love,

Really

I write this blog for a few friends. I really don’t care to know how many people are reading it, in fact, it would probably freak me out if I knew. While I have an exhibitionist streak, I am at heart a very shy girl.
But I have to tell you I need to get out of here. I am so tired of being the Other. I don’t want to be stared at if I wear a skirt above my knees, or if my eyes are blue, or if I travel alone without a man in front of me or child in tow. I know most Turks don’t mean anything by it, and Americans can and will be just as judgmental of me and my choices. But I am worn down. Really.

I Like Heights

I have a close friend who is married to a psychiatrist in training, and now she has to do her 400 days service to country, as Turkish socialized medicine demands. They were hoping for a post nearby, because my friend can’t leave his job. But no such luck, she is being sent to a small town outside of Mardin, on the Syrian and Iraqi border. So the couple, newly married, will be separated for 14 months, she in a very isolated and possibly dangerous place.
My poor friend tries to see things on the bright side (anyway he’s not the one who has to go to the East). It is a gift not everyone has, to not look down, to embrace change. Luckily, I like change and risk, or I’d be terrified right now. My life will start anew, just as my friends’ will.

Still Amazed, Bread and Cheese

When does a foreign experience cease to feel foreign? After living here three times in the past decade, and after a year now, I still don’t feel complacent about everyday life in Turkey. For example, almost every night I hear celebratory gunshots in my neighborhood, as it’s wedding and circumcision season.
Here’s another story: Last Sunday evening I went to the gym and then shopping at Carrefour. I took a taxi there, and it cost about 8 YTL, or $6. So I took a scheduled dolmus back home. I got the last seat on my bus, but as there were still 15 minutes til it left, people kept getting on. Two women sat on a hump next to the driver. Others stood in the aisle. Then a guard came and told everyone who didn’t have a seat to get off. One woman argued for about five minutes with him. Then he announced that children could sit on the hump (go figure, let the kids die first). So a few switched around, but standing passengers had to get off. I know that these are new rules for dolmuses, but it surprises me that in this patriarchic society a woman would argue with a man in a uniform.
Anyway, made it home with my salty braided cheese and olives. After a week in Germany I sort of missed them…
Also missed Turkish bread, which I think is among the best in the world. Photo above is taken in my favorite bakery, a very upscale place, and indicative of where my Anatolian City is headed.

Home Again

So I’m sitting in Starbucks at the International Terminal at the Istanbul Airport. I got here at 5:30am from Germany. Don’t even ask, I’m too tired to tell you why.
As you may have been able to tell from this blog, I’m sort of an emotional girl. I need to feel things intuitively, that the time is right and I’m ready before I do something. And I haven’t been ready to leave Turkey and return to SoCal. But now I am ready. It’s finished. Don’t ask me what happened, it was lots of small things, and things I can’t talk about, but I just know it that I have to go now. I miss my kids. My gram is ill. My paintings will be finished within the week.
I have been so happy professionally, and lately socially, in Turkey that it has been hard to think of leaving. But when in Italy and Germany, I felt excited about other places, the friends I was with, and I realized that life is possible after Turkey. SoCal is afterall one of the most desirable places to be on earth, I just have to stop taking it for granted.
As soon as I can think clearly again, I’ll continue to post about the art I saw at Documenta. But let me leave you to imagine this:
Zooming through impossibly green rolling hills very fast on roads like Disneyland, a castle or two in the distance, eating a warm liverwurst sandwich, smell of hand-rolled tobacco and warm beer, little Bavarian villages with maypoles and cows with bells.

Blue Bird

“Am I breaking your balance?” This is what someone asked me the other day. I don’t think this is exactly what this friend meant, but it’s a metaphor for what Turkey has done to me. And it’s a good question. It implies that life is a balancing act, which I believe, and that sometimes we lose our balance, which may be a positive thing. Especially if you are an artist, as opposed to say, an engineer. What I value is different than what you probably think is important. Let's not judge eachother. Yes, my life has been upset here. It might have happened in SoCal too, but it could have taken longer for me to realize.

American Man, Turkish Boys

Tonight I was at yet another going away party, this one for one of my American students. Her Texan boyfriend had arrived that day and it was very interesting to be around an American man. First he was HUGE compared to Turks, who tend to be slightly built (see above). He was boisterous and funny and outgoing. A very positive presence at the party, even though he had lost his luggage and my student had her wallet stolen. Of course, several glasses of raki improved all our moods! And it doesn’t hurt to be kissed by a Turkish boy, right?

Modern Friendship

As an expat I find myself writing a lot of emails. Many are to friends far away. But also I write emails (and cell phone text messages) to friends for whom English is not their first language because it’s much better than trying to talk on the phone.
The strange thing is that sometimes the email relationship gets ahead of the actual friendship. For example, I have an artist friend who has written me lovely letters and I don’t know her well (I want to). She feels an emotional connection to me after reading this blog! Emails and letters can become more intimate than regular conversation. I think this is not new (think Jane Austin).
This morning I received an upsetting email that my grandmother is ill and in hospital. So now I’m waiting for word that I should come home to SoCal to be with my family. Even though this world is small, it still takes two to three days to get from where I am now to where I should be to receive comfort I crave and give some in return. And I love people here, too, and they were with me today.

Dostlar

Kadir asked about my experiences in developing friends, so here you go:
In Turkey, you can have many arkadaslar (friends), but you have a few dostlar (friends for life, almost brothers/sisters). A dost can be from childhood, because you go to school with the same group from first to fifth grade (see how these kids are holding eachother?), or from later in high school or at university. But dostlar are friends for life.
So how does an expat like me fit into this scene? It’s difficult to get close to people because they already have such a tightly knit group of friends. Turks are very helpful and generous, but it takes time to really know them. Turks also seem to be shy of inviting me to their homes (perhaps because they think the “rich” American will judge their apartments? or because they live with extended family? I don’t know…)
I have had to consciously work to develop relationships in Turkey, and it’s been a big priority for me, because I depend heavily on friendships at home. An artist’s work is solitary, and I need friends to talk to and share with. Part of my struggle and depression earlier in the year was due to the fact of having no support network.
And, as a woman, I still don’t understand having male Turkish friends.